


and maybe halfway through it has more to do with killing him (than it ever did protecting myself)

by bipolar_chris



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Blood and Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Klaus Is Sick Of It, Murder, Psychological Trauma, Rage, Violent Thoughts, its not too too graphic but also i think that surgery docs aren't gory so who am i to tell, no slash you nasties, protective klaus baudelaire, small part of olaf being a fuckin creep about marrying violet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:00:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27999393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bipolar_chris/pseuds/bipolar_chris
Summary: It wasn't like Klaus was new to these kinds of thoughts, not by a long shot. But when acting on them is the best option he can see? Well, he may not have a choice.or: i have bipolar disorder and daddy issues and i project onto twinkish boys
Relationships: Klaus Baudelaire & Count Olaf
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	and maybe halfway through it has more to do with killing him (than it ever did protecting myself)

**Author's Note:**

> okay, HUGE disclaimer. i dont think that bipolar disorder makes someone dangerous. but i have bipolar disorder and this is what my thoughts were like when i was doing super bad mentally and in an abusive house with no escape. 
> 
> also, i definitely relate to the feeling of adults doing nothing to stop the bad things that happen to you. one time my dad rammed my head as hard as he could against a portapotty when i was in philidelphia and then yelled at me when i started crying and tons of people saw but no one did anything. my mom lived two hours away. anyone who found out how awful he was did absolutely nothing to help. and that feeling of helplessness is part of what fueled my rage. i felt like violence was the only option i had left.

Olaf had struck him. Though unsurprising, he still sat in shock at the outright violence. But it wasn’t fear that made him tremble. No, it was rage. How could this have happened? There’s no way his parents would want them with Olaf for even a second. And Poe was no help. They were trapped. 

He seethed. He might have done something about it if not for the fact that his sisters were in the room and Olaf had a crew of cruel men by his side. So, he let it all— the tingling in his fist, the electric taste of battery acid in his mouth, the clenching in his ribs— sit within his chest. He would only endanger his sisters more by acting out.

  
  


At the age of ten, Klaus was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. At the age of twelve, his parents died. And as much as he tried, he couldn’t be too sad about it. He missed them, yes, but his body, where he thought he would crumble, was sent into overdrive. The sudden energy running through his veins was familiar enough to recognize as the hum of hypomania set in. 

  
  


He knew he should feel hopeless and exhausted. He should be as miserable as Violet and Sunny. But the nonstop buzzing of his mind wouldn’t allow it. He could feel it as his thoughts shifted from angry to flat-out violent. Not towards his sisters, though. Never towards them. No, his eyes went unseeing as the fantasy swept over him; his hands gripping a knife, the blade slicing into Olaf until he was a mess of blood and flesh; the wheezing of an evil man taking his final breaths, the satisfaction at his hands around the man’s neck, watching the life drain from his eyes; basking in the overwhelming fear in Olaf’s eyes as it dawned on him that he would get his penance. He wanted to make Olaf as afraid as he was. He wanted to make him feel the pain of a hand across his cheek. He wanted Olaf to bathe in his own blood for his sins.

But he couldn’t. For the sake of his sisters. He wouldn’t be able to bear it if they were scared of him. He had never told anyone of these violent fantasies and he never planned to. They would stay locked away safely in the back of his mind.

That night, he dreamed of screams and red. 

——

He had figured out what Olaf intended to do, and his hatred boiled with an intensity he hadn’t known he was capable of. The soft thrum of pent-up energy turned to a roar, stronger than he ever remembered. He glared at the man in front of him.

“Oh, you don’t get it, do you? You can’t do anything to stop me. You’re powerless.” Olaf smirked at the distraught look on Klaus’ face, oblivious to the raging rapids of panic and fear and protectiveness running through the boy’s mind. “I will marry your sister. And once I get my hands on your fortune? Well, it would certainly be a shame if my lovely wife and her siblings got into a horrible accident, leaving me as their only beneficiary, wouldn’t it?” 

“You won’t touch them,” Klaus gritted out, and Olaf had the gall to laugh. 

“Oh, when Violet is my wife,” he leaned in closer, “I’ll do a lot more than touching.” After that, everything turned grey and slow, like it was all doused in molasses. He looked at the floor and saw a candlestick, the heavy metal kind, and against his will, he picked it up. The Count hadn’t even noticed his movement. He stood and took a step closer to Olaf, candlestick behind his back. Once again, there was hardly a glance in his direction. He raised the weapon above his head, and everything he’d been bottling up over the years finally exploded. 

Olaf fell to the ground, clutching his new head wound. It was bleeding. 

But not enough. 

He walked closer and swung once more. The man was now unconscious, but it still wasn’t enough. He kneeled behind him, hands shaking from the adrenaline, and swung again. 

And again. 

And again.

And again.

He vaguely registered the muffled cracking sound of a skull caving in, the sound of screaming— Olaf’s, or maybe his?— but it was just white noise. All he could hear was—  _ redredredredrednotenoughredmoremoremoreevilcruelheartlessmanyoudeservethisredredredred _ —

He finally stopped, and only then did he notice the nearly unrecognizable face before him. A gooey, mashed-up mess, practically boneless. Instead of nausea, though, he only felt relief. Looking down at his clothes, he gagged at how messy they were. His glasses were splattered with drying blood. He needed to shower and change. 

Once he was cleaned up, a wave of exhaustion washed over him. Oh, the wonders of a post-manic crash. He promptly passed out on the lumpy bed. 

Klaus was woken by screams. 

He rushed down the stairs, recognizing one of the voices as Violet, and stopped when he took in the scene. 

Violet and the hook-handed man stood in the doorway of the dining room— flashes of  _ redredred _ crossed his vision— looking at the mutilated body in horror. Now coming down from his intense mania, he realized just what he’d done, and took a shaky step back. Oh. He’d killed someone. No, he’d murdered them. A small part of him whispered  _ hedeservedeverythingthathappenedtohim _ but a much louder part screamed at the atrocity he had committed. Wait, was that out loud? He couldn’t tell as he leaned over to retch, falling to his knees. He’d never done anything like that while manic before. Regrettable haircuts? Of course. Midnight baking resulting in a messy kitchen and angry parents? Yes.

But this? It was... unprecedented. Klaus  _ hated _ violence, always had. That’s why he kept his darker thoughts inside. 

Violet rubbed a soothing hand over his back, and he choked on bile. He could never tell her about this. Ever. She would be so... well, he didn’t even know what. Fearful? Disappointed? Angry? It was bound to be bad.

And loathe to admit it, he was the tiniest bit proud of himself, even moreso when Mr. Poe came by and dropped them off at a friendly herpetologist’s house. He was disgusted, but ecstatic that he managed to protect his sisters. He did bad, but he did so, _so_ _good_. 

He hated how he smiled at the memories of that day.


End file.
